Beyond Perfection
by chloe4399
Summary: She doesn't understand the fascination that everybody seems to hold for him, he didn't deserve it like she did. He doesn't understand her at all, all Cato knew was that he wanted her. Revenge to the highest degree.
1. Beyond Perfection

You don't understand the fascination that everybody seemed to have about him. _He_ was nothing special; _he_ didn't train way into the night and come back at the crack of dawn, _he_ didn't perfect his skills until even _he_ could find fault in it, and worst of all, _he_ didn't want it as bad as you do.

No, it was simply partying and sex, all day, everyday. Yet, it seemed that he was getting all of the attention. You deserved it, not that arrogant bastard.

The knife flies out of your hand with such ease and grace; you can't help a smirk to grace your lips. Perfection, again.

An annoying low whistle enters the air, forcing you to turn around, only to face _him_.

Blonde hair, baby blue eyes, muscular figure and a too pearly grin. Cato. He is looking at you, surveying, _judging_. As if he had any right to judge, his sword fighting skills were, you had to grudgingly agree, impressive and hand to hand combat was definitely a strength for him but still. He lacked it, the special _edge_; his Hunger Games would be boring.

"Impressive," Cato says and fury builds in the pit of your stomach. _Impressive?_ The very words she had used to describe him? Clove was more than just _impressive_, Clove skills were beautiful, perfection and beyond.

Leave, is all that you say. The tone is hard and demanding. Cato smiles and it's so infuriating you just want to rip it off, take a knife and cut his face off, those muscles must go too. Stab, gore. Stab, blood. Stab, torture. Stab, pleading. Stab, death.

It doesn't though, leave.

"You know that you prefer me to stay," whispers Cato, taking a step closer. Before he has anytime to register, a knife is in her hand and Cato has been tackled to the ground.

Cato can feel the cool blade right underneath his jaw and he is secretly astonished. The speed in which Clove attacked him was amazing, not that Cato will ever admit it.

"I'd prefer it if you left, forever," whispers Clove mockingly.

Cato suddenly throws Clove off but Clove, being the best there is, flips in midair and lands crouched down. Strikingly similar to a cat. It comes a surprise to Cato that she doesn't hiss.

"Hey sexy, you know, Andrew is holding a party on Saturday. You should come, dance, let your hair down, drink-" Cato says.

"What, and risk you drugging me?" Clove snarls. Just when Clove thought he could get no stupider. Why the hell would Clove Mortiferm go to a useless gathering of drunken whores and sleazy fuckers?

"What'll you be doing then? No, let me guess…training." Cato says. Clove can detect skepticism laced in his voice, but she has no idea why.

"I need to be remembered, be the best."

Cato raises his eyebrows. Clove is already the best, she gets the best practice score, she has the most chance of winning the hunger games and she gets no negative comments about her skills. It's true that nobody really fawns over Clove like they did with Cato but everybody still _knew_ her. Clove _made_ herself known.

"That's not healthy, you need to relax. It also happens to be that I'm an excellent relaxer," says Cato, as he gets up.

You snort. Relaxer, that's not really the right word, is it? More like de-virginator or the whore enhancer. Suddenly a nameless blonde bimbo comes tittering over. She is a classic slut, long blonde hair up to her waist; too much make up, hourglass figure, shorts so short they look like underwear and a skintight white tank top with a very prominent bright pink bra.

"Hey, Cato!" squeals the insignificant insect. The girl turns her head to face Clove and grimaces. Clove has a sudden urge to throttle her.

"Ugh, why the hell are you talking to _her_? She is so…plain. Anyways, Cato, are you going to Andrew's party?" says the bimbo.

Clove rolls her eyes; of course this skank would be partying instead of practicing. It doesn't bother Clove that her appearance is considered plain, appearance doesn't mean a thing compared to how well you can kill.

Cato smirks and glances at Clove, fully expecting her to be fuming. However, her exterior seems rather calm, almost…_bored_? Cato's eyes flash, Clove was definitely a challenge. But, when has Cato ever backed down from a challenge?

"Yeah, baby, hopefully Clove is coming too," Cato says.

The blondie's mouth falls and her eyes practically pops out of their sockets. Clove snorts, picks up her favorite knife, Homicidum, and twirls it in her delicate fingers. Clove's gaze never leaves the knife, Homicidum moves rapidly around and in between her fingers. The smooth silver surface catches the light and illuminates the area where Clove is standing. She abruptly stops twirling the knife and throws it at the target; Homicidum cuts through the air, leaving a beautiful whooshing sound, before planting itself on the bullseye. Again.

"W-w-what? But she never stops practicing! It's like her obsession, train, train, train, she has no life! How the fuck are you going to convince her to stop?" splutters the floozy.

It was common knowledge that Clove loved to train, there were even rumors that she took special Capitol pills to stop her feeling tired so she could train even more. Clove wished this rumor was true.

"She'll come." Cato states simply. Arrogance radiates from him, and that is unacceptable.

It's right there and right then that Clove decides she hates Cato more than anybody. Clove loathes him, even more than her dad, even more than her mom and even more than her brother.

And everybody knows how far Clove will go for revenge, that's what drives her to do it.

"Fine, I'll come."


	2. The Party

Clove glances at herself in the mirror and smiles, not a joyful smile because Clove doesn't function in _that_ way, the smile is calculating and rather menacing. She is wearing a tight off the shoulder indigo dress that barely reaches her mid-thigh. Shiny black platforms are on her feet, Clove hates them, they are so impractical, but what other girls deem as "pretty" shoes is necessary in this situation. Raven colored hair falls around her shoulders; a diamond bracelet is grasping her left wrist. Delicate make up has been applied.

After all, didn't Clove always strive for perfection?

The mansion is a good half an hour walk, on normal circumstances Clove would have just walked there. No, if this was a normal circumstance Clove wouldn't even be in this predicament. Instead, Clove reluctantly slides into her sleek sports car and zooms into the ominous dark street. She doesn't even know where this infamous Andrew's house is but she going to guess that it's large. Hopefully the obnoxious thumping of music, the many parked cars and tipsy teenagers laughing as they totter around the garden will provide as some sort of indication.

Sure enough, Clove can make out a colossal building with music blasting within the structure and pissed youngsters.

She parks her car on the street and makes her way to the establishment, on her way some male she was not aware even existed up until that point comes swaggering over.

"Hey," says the male in a nonchalant way. Clove stares at this teenager incredulously, who was this asshole?

"Do I even know you?" snaps Clove, before shoving the guy aside.

As Clove enters the house, a few people stop and give Clove unflattering looks of disbelief. Perhaps it was because she wasn't training or threatening to murder somebody.

"Good lord. Cato! She actually came," says Daniel in a very carrying whisper.

Cato's head snaps up, trying to spot Clove. It didn't take long before he recognized the girl. Cato literally stops breathing, she looks so stunning. Then Cato snaps into reality, maybe in another world he and Clove could have been but they aren't. Clove is a heartless bitch that is obsessed with killing and Cato is a player with severe anger issues.

Cato stands up and walks to Clove, who is looking immensely irritated.

"You came, not that I thought you wouldn't," says Cato with a shit-eating grin.

There's that arrogant aura that so angers Clove, nobody should be able to have that level of confidence unless you were the best. Unless you were _Clove_. The thought of Clove's elaborate plan for revenge is the only thing restraining her from smacking him.

You should be fortuneteller, is all Clove says. Cato takes a step closer to her and it's so much like their first encounter Clove blinks, and of course the bastard takes this as a form of shyness.

"You shouldn't be scared, babes." Says Cato.

Clove seizes this opportunity kiss him.

It only takes two seconds before Cato starts to kiss her back roughly. Clove tastes like cherries and metal and he loves it, it's like a reminder that she's still Clove. Lethal and calculating. It only takes a few seconds before Clove has opened her lips, allowing him to explore the depths of her mouth. She bites his lower lip, making it bleed and Clove smirks before pulling away.

Clove turns around and is soon engulfed by the sea of bodies. The first step of her plan is now in motion, it'll a take a while, but Cato is going to receive the comeuppance he so deserves. Just thinking about _him_ makes her blood boil, stupid, annoying, arrogant, man whore, cocky, conceited, egotistical, spoiled, brat, self-important dickhead.

People never did seem to comprehend how much fucking _effort_ she put into the Hunger Games, how much _devotion_. People had no fucking _appreciation_ to the fact that Clove's life had been taken away by training. It was just about fucking _golden boy_ Cato with his charm and looks.

Clove decides to slide up the unnecessarily large stairwell, fully aware that Cato can see her.

Cato can still taste her on his lips and knows he must have more of her. Clove is dangerous and harmful but somehow that manages to quicken his senses, and Cato knows if any other guy tries it on with her that there will be a murder tonight. So of course Cato is going to follow her up the stairs.

"Damn, Clove." Smirks James.

Ah, dear James. James with his bitter chocolate messy hair, sea green eyes and muscular build. Just another version Cato. Perfect. Clove turns around and gives a seductive smirk.

It really would be more effective to kiss him but one Cato is more than enough. Doesn't make a difference as Cato barges through some innocent by standers and throws James to the other side of the room.

"You're _my_ fucking conquest." Snarls Cato, there is no mistaking the seething anger.

And so the plan for revenge begins.


	3. The Final Test

**I'm sorry for not updating earlier. **

Clove stares defiantly at Cato. _His_ conquest? _Clove_ doesn't fucking _belong_ to anybody.

Cato glares at Clove; only _Cato_ was able to do something like _that_. Clove is officially strictly _his_, and Cato doesn't like to share his pretty toys. But that's all Clove was, reminded Cato to himself. Not even the notorious Clove could mean anything more to Cato other than a trinket.

"I can do whatever the hell I want, Cato-" begins Clove in a dangerous voice.

"No you can't. I don't like to share my toys." Explains Cato in an equally savage tone.

"I don't either," says Clove bittersweetly with a sarcastic smile plastered on her face.

There is tense silence, only to be interrupted by spluttering because somebody took an oversized gulp of scotch.

"Fine," says Cato.

Clove's eyebrows funnel a tiny bit, he just agreed? Just like that? But Clove expected it to take at least a year before he agreed. Cato said fine, no protests, no fucking _effort_.

"Two can play at this game," Cato explains.

Oh, of course, he means _that_. Clove gives a small smug smile and cocks her head; it's a challenge acceptance. It's quite sad actually; that Cato thinks Clove will succumb to Cato. Hadn't he learnt anything from watching her these past years? Clove _never_ gives up and she _always _wins

ONE YEAR LATER:

After their last encounter, Cato and Clove have gone through more than half of the people at the training academy. Both of them flaunting their new conquests in front of one another, it was a sick game. To see who would crack first, although clearly it was going to be _Cato_.

Cato is whispering something in some tramp's ear, the girl is so clueless; Cato isn't even _looking_ at her. His eyes are focused on something else, _someone_ else. Clove. She is throwing knives at targets; it's truly captivating the way she does it. Her petite figure moving swiftly, rhythmically. It's almost like a dance, the knives land perfectly. Cato almost laughs, _perfectly_.

Clove doesn't even bother to acknowledge the new tart Cato has. New day, new whore. It was like a pattern, except Clove didn't always have the time to fuck some of Cato's competitors. No, she had to train. Especially now that the reaping was in a week, every single day Clove would come at 3:10 a.m and work her ass off until 11 p.m. Even the trainers were telling Clove to stop training so fiercely but they didn't understand, she _had_ to win the hunger games. This was make it or break it, everyone kept on saying that she was _only 15_ and that _there would plenty of other opportunities_. No, they were wrong. Clove has been waiting to be in the hunger games her entire life, and 15 years is a long time to wait. This entire year has just been Clove pushing herself to her limits and beyond, taking numerous pills just to stay alive.

_Thwack_, Mori hits bullseye.

After her last knife has been thrown, Clove stalks to the hand-to-hand combat. Cato knows he just can't let this opportunity pass so he shoves the girl he was talking to aside and walks to the hand-to-hand combat as well.

Clove's face contorts into a snarl as he approaches.

"Really? Fine, prepare for slaughter. I _never_ lose," says Clove to Cato.

Cato smiles, Clove cannot even _begin_ to describe how much she _hates_ that grin.

"Aw…that's so cute," beams Cato. He steps onto the mat and uses one of his hands to stroke Clove's pretty face, she hisses but does not move.

"I'll send you to heaven before I send you to hell," whispers Cato.

Again with that _undeserved_ arrogance. Clove pushes Cato's hand away walks away before spinning on her heel and facing him again.

"Let's play." Clove says mockingly.

Cato charges at Clove, predictably. Almost with boredom, Clove flips over him and while doing so she grabs his head. She drags his head down to the ground with the headlock but using Cato's brute strength, he grabs her torso tears her off him. Cato flings Clove and she twists and lands. Cato once again charges at Clove and Clove can't help but roll her eyes. _This_ is _exactly_ why the bastard doesn't deserve all the credit he gets. Same moves, easy to anticipate. _Clove_ would _never_ make such a mediocre mistake.

This time Clove twists to the side at the last minute and kicks Cato's side, hard. Cato stumbles a bit, clutching his side. Clove throws herself at him, so he comes crashing down. _Exactly what he deserves anyway_. She punches him in the chest, causing him to splutter then moving her other leg to his other side. Clove is sitting on top of him. She uses her left hand to clasp his throat tightly; her sharp nails dig into his flesh.

"One…two…three, you're dead."

She gets off of him and heads to rock climbing, not even bothering to look back. It's at that point, Cato finally experiences pure loathing. Cato realizes that Clove is competition, hell, she could fucking _win_ the hunger games with her eyes closed.

Cato decides to train harder.

Clove surveys herself in the mirror, or to be more precise, her face. Without make up, there are huge dark rings. It's strange really, how tired and worn-out she looks when, really, she feels fine. Clove is rather disappointed with her body not being able to keep up with her nowadays, but nothing make up can't fix.

Thick layers of foundation and bronzer on top make Clove look normal, it's amazing what make up can do. In fact, she looks positively _glowing_. Deep inside her mind though, Clove knows it's all fake and that she's just a worn out young girl. But then again, who says the subconscious is always right?

She heads to the 15 year old girls division, her shiny hair swishing and her flawless face glowing. The dress she is wearing looks so innocent; it's a creamy white dress. The top part is like a corset with intricate lace, the bottom part floats out to just above her knees. If you didn't know her, you would assume she was an angelic girl with a sweet personality. The only fact that stopped her from looking like an angel was her eyes. One could almost see blazing fury and blood lust dancing in her lime green eyes. Cato allows a smirk onto his lips; she really was a deceiving bitch.

He just watched in silence when _her_ name was called. No volunteers, no point. She flutters onto the stage; the man calling out the names isn't saying anything…just staring at her. Oh, Clove really _was_ playing a dangerous game.

Silence, stunned awe. Not that she didn't deserve it. Clove had worked so fucking _hard_ for this and now it was finally going to pay off. She was the best and finally she could prove it to the rest Panem. No more _Cato_ stealing _her_ glory. Clove vaguely heard the man announcer, whatever, calling for the male tributes. Someone called Alex Richard.

"I volunteer!"

The voice is loud, filled with arrogance. Cato. Clove's entire vision turns red, how _dare_ he try to steal _her_ glory? Finally, Clove gets this chance that she's been working devastatingly hard for and _he_ just decides to prance in and _ruin_ things for her? I am going to _kill_ him, and it's going to be the worst death imaginable. She cannot _wait_ to have his crimson, warm, sickly _blood_ on her hands. The hatred is unimaginable; even if he _died_ for her Clove would never even _begin_ to forgive him.

"Shake hands!" says the announcer in a squeaky voice.

Her sharp nails dig into his flesh once again and he tries his best to break her. Fruitless, Clove simply buries her nails deeper. She leans into his ear and whispers the words that he _so_ wanted to hear.

"The final test, sweetie."


	4. Family and Mentors

**Thank you if you were one of the amazing people who commented, I was going to stop writing this but now I'm not. **

She stares at them, her _family_. There is her cold older _brother_ who is gazing at her emotionlessly, a spitting image of herself except for the fact he is muscular and of average height. They are so similar, both in appearance and in personality. He is in no way caring towards her, in fact, some of the ugly scars she posses are because of him. When he woke up and saw yet another random guy leaving the house from his sister's window, he always wished that she would become pregnant so she would never out shine him again.

Her _father_, the one who encouraged her to take as many pills as possible to help her better herself. The one who completely ignored his eldest because his daughter was better at training. He made her practice every single day and beat her when she didn't get the _best_ training score, the _best_ grades, _perfect_ reviews and made a_ mistake_.

Her _mother_, telling her to look _prettier_. Clove, why didn't you wear the pale gold dress? More makeup, do you _want_ to embarrass me Clove? That's _my_ fucking genetics you're not doing any justice to! Do I look like I give a shit of your heels fucking _hurt_? Suck it up, you whiney bitch, you look nice in them. Smile, Clove! No, not _that_ much! You didn't even use the whitener, did you? Ugh, you really are a waste of space. See that handsome boy over there? He's the mayor's son, sleep with him.

"Win, Clove." Says her father; it's a cold statement that leaves no room for comments. Not that it ever stopped Clove.

"When have I ever lost? I'm the best," replies Clove in an equally frosty tone.

They leave.

Cato looks at his mother, the only person there. She was so, so indifferent towards him. Secretly, he craved for her approval but all she did was ignore him. In more than a few ways, she was like Clove.

He thought of his mother refusing to even talk to him, except to tell him he was bratty and to shut the hell up. Cato smiles sarcastically at his frowning mother, she never did get the irony of calling him a son of a bitch.

"You are so stupid, why did you volunteer? You've seen that Clove girl in training! I know her parents, they make her train for at least-"

"I can take her!"

"No you can't! She gets the best training score, she is gorgeous and she is determined to win. This is a _fucking_ suicide mission and you know it!" snaps his mother.

"No you bitch! I'll make her fall for me something! Or kill her while she's sleeping!"

"If you kill her in her sleep it isn't a real victory and Clove is too smart for that and as for the thought that you can _charm_ her is just ridiculous."

His mother stands up, glares at him then retreats but before she does she says something.

"Have fun dying, she'll rip you to pieces."

Anger explodes inside of Cato and everything goes blurry. Hate is a dangerous thing; once it consumes you there is no telling how you will react. He vaguely sees a chair smashed into a wall and peace keepers surrounding him but that's all. That's all he can remember.

"That was quite some melt down, you know." Clove whispers to Cato as they sit down together on a red velvet couch, waiting for their mentors to arrive.

Cato's knuckles turn white and at once he realizes this is a mistake. Clove allows a small amused laugh to escape her lips and she snakes her arms around his neck, she twists her arms slightly so he is facing her.

"She came to see me, told me _things_. She told me to make your death as _painful_ as possible, to remind you that…" Clove drops her melodic voice even lower.

"Mother _always_ knows best."

It's at that moment Brutus and Ebnoria enter the room; Brutus stops abruptly at the sight of Clove draping her arms around Cato.

"Oh fuck. _Please_ tell me that we did not a get a fucking career _couple_," snarls Ebnoria, showing off her disturbing teeth.

Clove laughs and takes her arms off of Cato.

"No, I was just telling Cato dear what his mother said. Isn't that right, Cato?" Clove titters, eyes flashing.

Cato growls and clenches his fists even tighter. A snarky grin makes it's way to Ebnoria's face but Brutus frowns.

"You're small," comments Brutus.

Clove scowls, it didn't even _matter_ that she was deemed as a non-giant. Small and lethal, she could easily take this _brute_. Clove chuckles inside at her pun, but her outer expression doesn't change. Cato, however, is laughing his obnoxious head off, clearly getting the irony of _Clove_ being _inferior_.

"What can you do? Other than look pretty." asks Brutus scathingly.

Cato glances at Clove who is wearing an expression of ferociousness. It's very amusing to Cato when someone doesn't see Clove for what she really is. Although Clove clearly doesn't think so. It is wonderful when somebody gets underneath her skin. However, she somehow manages to recollect herself.

"I can do _whatever_," says Clove seductively.

Ebnoria barks out a laugh, Cato glowers at her and Brutus turns red. Clove is smirking and batting her eyelashes. Why the fuck is Clove so obsessed with trying to get it on with _every_ _other_ guy except for him? Cato decides to make it a personal goal to fuck Clove before the games.

"Wait…I just remembered something! You're _Clove_, right? Why does that sound so familiar? Oh god, you're not Clove Van der Bele?" says Ebnoria suddenly.

Clove smiles knowingly, and Cato is practically _seething_ with anger. Of _course_ princess _Clove_ would already be in with the mentors. Clove is almost radiating smugness, looks like dear _golden boy_ doesn't have much credibility with those who _matter_. Cato may be important in _practice_ with those shallow idiots but Clove is the one who will succeed in the long run. This is possibly the best day of Clove's life.

"I've heard of you! I mean, who hasn't in the mentoring world? You're meant to be the most vicious and skilled victor ever! I actually met Stan, your-"

"My personal trainer, yes." Interrupts Clove.

"I call her," says Ebnoria.

"Fine, take the rich kid. I bet this _man_, right here can beat this _princess_," snaps Brutus.

_He _is almost as bad as _Cato_. He considers _Clove _as _weak_? As inferior? He thinks that Clove isn't capable of slashing everybody to shreds and laughing about it afterwards? _Clove_ is the best, and nothing stands in her way. Let alone this too bright smiley arrogant asshole that relies on his muscles alone.

A knife whizzes past Brutus, just cutting his cheekbone then landing in the concrete wall. _Em-fucking-bedded_ into the _concrete_ wall. Scarlet liquid leeks out of his cheek.

"When I come back, you'll be at the top of my list," whispers Clove.

Brutus looks both scandalized and impressed.

Ebnoria laughs and laughs and laughs. After a while, she manages to grab ahold of herself.

"Let's talk strategy, tomorrow we can watch the reapings."

"Kill as many people as possible," says Clove and Cato simultaneously.

"Except your allies. Traditionally district 1 and 4 join you guys, but let's just wait to see the reapings. Dinner will be served in three hours, until then do whatever." Adds Brutus.

"Where is my room?" asks Clove.

A woman steps out the shadows, Cato, Brutus and Ebnoria all jump. Clove already knew someone was there. Because _Clove_ is just that much _better_.

The woman has unnaturally black hair, no eyebrows, black eyes without any white so it just looks like two gaping holes, pale skin, is intimidatingly tall, has 8 inch black platforms with weeds growing on them and is wearing a skin tight ragged coal dress.

"Go down the hall, Clove's room is the first one down. Cato's is the second. Enjoy." Says the woman, her voice is raspy. It almost sounds like somebody drowning in sand.

"Thanks," Clove says simply then walks to her room.

Cato scurries after Clove.


	5. Glimmer and Marvel

**Sorry for not updating earlier, but not a lot of people are even reading to this, so whatever. **

"Wait, Clove!" cries Cato as Clove is about to shut the door.

Clove immediately tries to shut the door as quickly as she can, but Cato gets there just in time and uses his strength to force himself inside the room. Stupid prick.

She glares at Cato, her eyes burning. Her glare is so dark, darker than Brutus's blood, even shadier than the infamous pitch-black skies back in district 2, inkier than death itself.

"What do you want Cato?" hisses Clove.

Cato slowly closes the door and smiles, before taking a step towards her. _Again_. Seriously? Doesn't this technique _ever_ get old? Oh, I'm the big badass Cato, I'm just going to smile and take a step closer to Clove because that'll make her sleep with me.

"I just wanted to get to know you, for the Arena. Find out whether you're trustworthy or not…that sort of shit." Replies Cato.

"I'm trustworthy because I won't stoop as low as to kill someone in their _sleep_. That's fucking _weak_, and that's one motherfucking thing that I am not. It's a shame I can't say the same thing for you," snaps Clove.

Cato's eyes widen slightly, but he shakes his head. Suddenly he clamps his humongous hand over her lips. _What_ is this _monstrosity _fucking doing? Is he trying to _shut her up_? Did he not _comprehend_ that this was _Clove_?

"Shut up, because I'm only going to say this once. I _will_ win the hunger games, got it? No, just fucking _listen. _I _am_ going to win, but in the meantime I might as well have some _fun_."

Oh. Fuck. No. Was Cato being _serious_? Was Cato planning to _rape_ her? Clove's face contorted into a face of such wrath, Cato subconsciously removed his hand. She slams his body against the wall; it's amazing how strong she is despite her small stature, thinks Cato.

This is it, to hell with revenge, manipulation, mind games, whatever. Clove is going to murder this jackass right here, right now. It's about time, too. _Somebody_ should have killed him a long time ago, but they didn't. And now Clove had the honors. Clove knew that this was unhealthy, fuck; Cato would probably cause her to have a brain tumor, but she really did _hate_ him. No, although hate is the probably the strongest word in the English language, what Clove feels for Cato is beyond that.

"Are you trying to tell me that _I_ should sleep with _you_?" growls Clove.

She didn't even bother to listen to his answer; she just kneed him in the groin. And damn hard too, Cato would like to add.

"I really should just castrate you." Spits Clove.

She takes advantage of his pained state; Clove grabs his disgusting blonde hair and smashes his head against the wall. Blood gushes out of his nose as a sickening crunch is heard.

But he still doesn't have tears in his eyes, fuck; he isn't even making any _sound_. Clove takes this as a challenge; she _needs_ to make Cato feel pain. Damn, if _only_ Clove had another knife. She curses herself for not being more prepared.

Another figure comes barging in. Ebnoria.

It takes her about five seconds before the situation sinks in. Here was Clove, still clutching Cato's hair. Blood is pouring out of his disfigured nose and he is clearly in a pained state, even if he is refusing to show it. Despite the situation, it was actually quite amusing. A small beautiful young girl wearing a girlish dress was in the middle of beating up a huge muscular man.

"As funny as _this_ is," says Ebnoria, gesturing in Clove and Cato's direction. Notice that _Clove's_ name is in front of _Cato's_.

"I'm afraid you'll have to save it for the arena. Cato, you wuss, come with me and we'll go to the medic. With the Capitol's outstanding medics, it won't take long for your nose to heal."

At dinnertime, a tense silence is molded in the air. The fact that Clove kept on smirking and "subtly" tapping her nose didn't exactly improve the atmosphere.

"So…how are you two liking the train? It's very um…luxurious," says the standoffish lanky escort blandly.

"Princess here is used to it, her dad is-" Cato begins darkly.

"Shut up, Cato. Don't be so _nosy_," snaps Clove.

Cato casts Clove an evil look, practically _spewing_ with loathing. Brutus is wearing a glare that, impressively, matches Cato's.

"So why did you even attack him?" questions Brutus harshly.

"He couldn't keep it in his pants." Says Clove.

Ebnoria snorts into her glass of wine, Brutus suddenly becomes very interested in his slice of rye bread, the escort gives a small-amused smile and Cato narrows his eyes into slits.

"I have photos of the other tributes, would you like to see them? You know what? This is really fucking awkward so whether you like it or not, you're seeing them." Pipes the escort.

Her long spidery paper-thin fingers clutch a pile of glossy photos; she shoves the first one in front of everybody. It's a photo of a tall, curvy, blond girl wearing a disgustingly fake smile. A fake smile that matches her obvious extensions, fake eyelashes, spray tan, stick on nails, false boobs and colored contacts. Clove immediately sees all of this, _Mommy_ trained her well.

Cato gives an annoying low whistle, indiscreetly eyeing up the bimbo's _fake_ body. Somehow this pisses Clove off more than it should, she has seen him do a lot more to other girls so why this reaction, and, _now_? Tension the really the only possible explanation.

"Glimmer, district 1." Says the escort.

Clove snorts, grabs the paper, and tosses it aside and beckons for the second one. The second photo is of a beautiful guy, nothing fake about _him_, Clove notices. She makes a mental note to mention this. His lightly tanned, well-structured face is breathtaking. Viciously green eyes are piercing, muscular and lean is his _hot_ as _fuck_ body. Damn, Clove will definitely doing _him_ as soon as she gets the chance.

"I'll hit that," says Clove shamelessly.

"With my car," snaps Cato.

"_You_ are just jealous that _he_ is gorgeous, and the fact that _he_ is going to get into _my_ pants." Replies Clove coolly.

This is true, but Cato, being Cato, ignores this.


	6. Ugly

Sorry i haven't updated in a while, but life is being a bitch.

"Clove," Glimmer says curtly.

"Irritating bitch who's more plastic than human," replies Clove coldly.

Glimmer's mouth hangs open slightly; her fake hazelnut eyes practically pop out of her skull. Marvel's mouth twitches upwards slightly and Cato rolls his eyes. You would think, that after a week one would understand that Clove was heart achingly blunt and spiteful. Marvel and Cato had certainly caught on but that retarded blondie was just on a whole different level of intellect.

"Save it for the arena, Clove." Snaps Cato.

Blondie swoons over the fact that Cato, in her mind, "defended" her.

"Whatever, dipshit." Replies Clove.

Her fingers trace over a glorious dagger. It has been sharpened to perfection, it looks like it could almost do damage to air. The handle molds into her palm wonderously, almost as if it had been designed for her. Fuck, it probably _was_. She grips it so _fucking_ tightly, almost as if she's afraid that it'll disappear if she lets go. Her knuckles turn paler and paler until they're a sickening almost see-through color. Clove's breath becomes faster and faster until she's panting heavily. Her eyes never leave the dagger, they grow larger and larger. The overall effect is quite haunting.

Oh _god_, the feeling is sickening. Yet, it's the best feeling Clove has ever known. Emotions run through her veins like dirty water runs through pipes. She _feels_ when she's dangerous, she fucking _feels_. The _need_ to kill is thumping through her mindless body. This is what she has been designed to do, this is what she is programmed to do, it might seem disturbing and sadistic but _fuck_ all those idiots who don't understand.

She starts to shake, faster and faster. Her grip never loosens though.

_-Kill, bitch, kill. _

_-Okay. _

A maddening laugh escapes her lips; the sound is deafening and strangulated. This must be what people in hell sound like, reflects Cato. Cato gazes upon Clove with new interest. She's even more dangerous then what he had assumed. Clove was psychologically warped and ruthless, she would not hesitate to kill _anyone_. It's right then when the disgusting truth hits him, _Clove has no conscious_. Even Cato is recoiled by this thought; Cato was sadistic and harmful but even he knew where the line was. Cato knows how hypocritical this sounds but he actually _does_ have more restraint, if he didn't he would have killed his mother but he didn't.

Clove tosses the knife violently; it misses the bullseye by three rings. The dagger goes right through the target and digs into the wooden wall until only the tip of the handle is showing.

It's not fucking _enough_, screams Clove inside her head. You're going to the arena, Clove, you can go apeshit _later_. I promise, sooths Clove inside her head. Just like that, Clove relaxes because she's in control, as she usually is.

Marvel frowns as he watches Clove. She is like venom, it starts out weak but it strengthens over time until the victim is desperate, praying to God to end this faster. If she doesn't win the Hunger Games then who hell will? Marvel isn't stupid, he knows that his future is sealed so what's the point in making a huge deal about it? At least he still had the chance to be memorable.

Nobody speaks; Cato glances at the other tributes. Shock, horror, dread. He can't really blame them; they don't stand a chance. Clove grabs the remaining knives and starts to throw them. Cato has seen this technique countless times and yet it never fails to amaze. Needless to say, they all are perfect hits. All of them pierce the heart, Glimmer notices.

That night Cato can't sleep.

Maybe it's because he knows for a fact that Marvel is in the same bed as Clove right now, or that he is going to present his skills to the judges tomorrow but something is preventing him from dozing off. Cato knows it's pointless to even try to get some sleep, so he decides to take a walk. The decision is rash and odd as Cato never goes out for _walks_ but fuck it.

With an odd sense of defiance, Cato clambers out of his bed and makes his way out of his room so kindly provided by the Capitol.

As Cato treads through the corridor, he hears another being shuffle.

"Clove, I know you're here," hisses Cato.

Clove gives a bitter laugh, suddenly appearing from the shadows. She's facing the dark sky, her jet-black hair shimmers in the moonlight. Cato cringes at how fucking _romantic_ this sounds, this is the motherfucking _Hunger Games_ for crying out loud, not some low budget chick flick based on a fucking 'True Story'.

She isn't wearing anything but a white lace bra and matching underwear underneath the flimsy bathrobe, Cato notices.

"Where's Marvel?" asks Cato, can't helping the slight tone of resentment enter his voice.

"Gone, after sex he knows to leave. I'm honestly surprised you didn't know that, I would have thought you were the type of person to keep tabs on what I was doing at all times. Shall I enlighten you? After we fuck, Marvel leaves and I take off my make up. This is about 1:00 a.m, then I select my outfit for tomorrow and try to get some sleep but it takes awhile as I hate sleeping. When I eventually do get to sleep it's about 3:00 a.m, then-"

"I don't wish to know more of your daily routine, Clove," snaps Cato.

Clove rolls her eyes, then turns around so fast Cato barely got a chance to see her face. She keeps her head down and tries to barge past him, but Cato grabs her waist and forces her to face him.

Oh. My. God. That's the only thing running through Cato's mind right now. The make up was gone and this is what remains. Dark circles around her sagging eyes, bruises, cuts, scars are traced all over her body. She looks so _weak_, so fucking _breakable_. Cato should want to shatter her into a million pieces, but somehow he doesn't, all he feels is…nothing.

After all, didn't she say that training took away her entire life?

He doesn't know what's running through his brain when he kisses her. And she sure as hell doesn't when she kisses back.

When they wake up, she knows it didn't mean anything and he does too.


End file.
